How Gossip Girl Helped Me Revise My Plot

I'm a huge Gossip Girl fan. Deride if you must, but know that George Sand being the writer a character most wants to have dinner with was an actual plot point in Season 2 (episode: "New Haven Can Wait"). There was also a Wharton tribute episode ("The Age of Dissonance"), plus GG gave us a memorable nickname to denigrate hack literary writers: F. Scott Fitzjackass ("The Fasting and the Furious"). Suffice to say, there are a lot more literary Easter eggs in the show than appear at first glance.

What does this have to do with writing tips? 

I'm about 70% through the fourth draft of The Red Road. This is the do-or-die batch of revisions, the one where I have to make final decisions about what stays, what goes, and what needs to be added. Drafts 2 and 3 were mostly about cutting my ridiculously verbose paragraphs down to their essence, and losing the overly "literary" tone that appeared every so often. This draft is about plot and subplot arcs, character arcs, and themes. 

The good news: the book has plot and subplot arcs, character arcs, and themes. The bad news: they aren't right yet.

The other night, I was super frustrated by the amount of work left in front of me. So I did what any frustrated writer would do--poured a glass of wine, turned off the computer, and settled down to re-watch a Gossip Girl episode with the hubby. One of the million reasons why I love my husband is that he tolerates...dare I say shares?...my unholy fascination with Gossip Girl.  He routinely uses that "F. Scott Fitzjackass" quote. Anyway, we're currently on season 4, when the Brooklyn team (Jenny, Vanessa, and Juliet) work together to take down Serena.

You don't need to know much about Gossip Girl to understand this particular plot arc. In a nutshell, the "outsider" Brooklyn girls want to ruin Serena, a glamorous rich girl from the Upper East Side. Their plan is simple: one by one, they will strip away everything Serena has that they don't: a devoted best friend, two boys who like her, her academic future at Columbia, and her family's trust.

They develop elaborate ruses to strip away each of Serena's support networks, and then go in for the kill: one super-elaborate ruse that is meant to destroy Serena's credibility for all time. The girls map out each takedown and orchestrate them individually. And guess what? It almost works. Serena gets put in the nuthouse and everyone thinks she's a lying, slutty drug addict.

And then it hit me: The Red Road needs a little Gossip Girl action. One of the main problems I'm having is that I feel the heroine's actions are too abrupt in the third act. I take her from a smart but worried schoolgirl into a revenge-seeking assassin. It doesn't work because she doesn't have enough reason to jeopardize what she has going for her. 

I realized I need to get all Gossip Girl on her ass and strip away the things she has one by one:

• Best friends
• In GG, the villain selected Blair for entry to an exclusive on-campus club at Columbia, leaving Serena out in the cold. Blair, who's always had self-esteem issues where Serena is concerned, now feels like the superior one. 
• In my book, I need to make sure to isolate the main character by giving her friends what they want, so they have more reason to act selfishly and maintain the status quo than they do to support Emma.
• Her academic future
• In GG, the villain sends an email from Serena's phone, asking one of her professors to trade sex for grades. This is, of course, enough to get her in trouble with the dean, who wants to expel her. 
• In my book, I'm adding two new chapters that basically put a black stain on Emma's academic record--enough to make good schools question her suitability as a scholarship recipient. The action she takes is entirely her choice, which means she knows exactly what she's doing, but can't help herself. She'll have a choice, and I need her to make the wrong one.
• Her family's trust
• In GG, the villain drugs Serena, dresses up exactly like her and takes pictures of herself snorting coke, then dumps Serena in a crappy cross-town motel and basically waits for her to overdose. When Serena wakes up and calls for help, her family thinks she's returned to her old, careless ways that apparently involve doing massive amounts of drugs and generally not giving a crap.
• In my book, what would disappoint the family most is Em sabotaging her own future--and acting out. This family values strength and silence in equal measure. So the worst she could do is show weakness, make mistakes, and be vocal about it, forcing the other family members to witness her collapse. This happens after the incident I'm adding that destroys her academic future, in a new chapter or two I'll have to write from scratch.
• The boy who likes her

• In GG, the villain starts an anonymous rumor that Serena has an embarrassing case of VD. This makes both of the guys who like her consider other options. Once this is proven false, however, the villain has a backup plan. She masquerades as Serena (literally...it's a masquerade ball) and while disguised, kisses both guys. Naturally, there's photographic evidence floating around that turns both guys against Serena.
• In my book, this is the one step I'm not sure I want to take. I kind of want to keep her love interest on her side so she always has a way out...and then I want her to refuse to take it. 

Every single one of these Gossip Girl plot points applies to my character...and maybe to yours, too. 

The next time you're looking at your book's lumpy middle and wondering how to stiffen it up, think Gossip Girl. What does your character have that the villain needs to take away? Pick it off in small pieces, and those small pieces will add up to a collective whole that gives your hero plenty of work to do in the story's climax.

If all else fails, just stream old episodes of your favorite TV show. You never know what will spark an idea for your next plot twist.

14 Examples and 2,300 Words on How to Sharpen Your Sentences

I just finished the third draft of a book that’s going to take at least five drafts to finish. The biggest problem until now was sheer word bloat. I knew I couldn’t make the additions the book needs until I made a buttload of subtractions. Imagine trying to evaluate the health of a garden when it’s so full of weeds and overgrown shrubbery you can’t see a single stalk or bloom. All you know is there’s an awful lot of green shit underfoot.

To hack away at that green shit, I focused on sentence-level editing. This meant fixing (or deleting) things like:

• Sentences that use imprecise verbs or descriptions
• Sentences that convey the same information in two different ways
• Bloated sentences with filler words like “just,” “only,” “that,” etc.

This is no small task. And a lot of writers never do it.

These days, a popular piece of advice for self-published writers is to PUBLISH AS MUCH AS YOU CAN, LIKE, A MILLION WORDS A YEAR AND IF YOU DON’T NO ONE WILL EVER DISCOVER YOUR WORK LET ALONE BUY IT AND YOU’LL NEVER MAKE A DIME AND THIS IS THE ONLY WAY TO PROVE YOU’RE REALLY COMMITTED.

This strategy might work for some people, but I’m not one of them. For starters, I don’t see how it’s possible to publish that quantity of words that have been edited and polished to perfection. As Miracle Max said in The Princess Bride, “You rush a miracle man, you get a rotten miracle.”

I’ve written before about the difference between storytelling and writing. I suspect that million-word publishers are storytellers more than writers. That’s fantastic for them, but I can’t do it. I can’t send a book out into the world without having analyzed every word of every sentence to make sure it earned its place.

And by “analyzed,” I don’t mean re-reading it, thinking it makes sense, and moving on. Or sending it to an editor for approval and sighing with relief when that sentence doesn’t come back with a red mark.
I mean analyzing the combination of words and punctuation to make sure the sentence is sharp, crisp, and effective. I mean owning every damn word. I mean seeing a passable but weak sentence become strong enough to punch the reader in the face.

Making that happen almost always involves deleting words rather than adding them.

To show you how, I’m sharing 14 examples of my sentence-level editing from this third draft. These sentences might still get cut or revised again. Are they works of art? Nope. But do they illustrate my point? Damn skippy.

Production Note: If the thought of deleting your original sentences makes you nervous, save each draft as a new document. That way, you can always refer back to the previous draft if you start feeling like you’re losing too much of the story’s original flavor.  Alternatively, you can work in your original file and paste all your deleted or altered sentences into a text file. This is what I do. I like having one main file to work in, but if I have a suspicion I’ve over-pruned, I can go back into the text file and browse through the sentences that didn’t make the cut. I’ve never re-inserted a sentence I’ve cut.

1.
Original: Mrs. Evans was supposed to give them their Gatsby papers back today.
Revised: Mrs. Evans was supposed to return their Gatsby papers today.

This is a great example of imprecision. Sure, you could say “give them back.” But why would you do that when the word “return” means the same thing, and gets the job done in fewer words?

2.
Original: The small things she’d worried about—quizzes and tests and papers—seemed like crumbs beneath a table now.
Revised: Quizzes and tests and papers were crumbs beneath a table now.

The shorter, punchier sentence conveys more urgency, which is appropriate for the character at that time. “Were” is also more decisive than “seemed like.”

3.
Original: Two weeks ago, she would have sat here and gotten angry about the dirt and grime on the floor, or the flickering hallway lights, or any of the million things wrong with the school that her parents’ tax dollars should have fixed.
Revised: Two weeks ago, she would have been angry about the grime on the floor, the flickering hallway lights, and the million other things her parents’ tax dollars should have fixed.

For the love of God, trim the fat: (1) Does it matter that Emma would have sat while getting angry? No. The angry is the important part, not the sat. Get rid of it. (2) Also, what’s the difference between dirt and grime? If there’s a difference, is it important? No. Get rid of it. (3) Notice how I used “or” multiple times in the list of things wrong? It’s called “polysyndeton,” and while it creates rhythm and emphasis, the benefits don’t outweigh the bloat in this case.  Get rid of it. (4) Why am I using “or” in the first place? If anger is the point, why not have Emma be mad at all these things instead of just one, which is what’s indicated by “or”? Geez Louise. (5)  Emma could be mad at “any of the million things.” But “million” is used for emphasis, so why dilute it with “any of the”? Just say there are a million things wrong. Seriously. (6) This scene takes place in Emma’s school. So it’s obvious in context that the dirty hallway and flickering lights are at that location. No need to re-reference “school.”

4.
Original: Up close, she could see the green of his eyes was more olive than emerald, close to his skin tone, and fringed with a blanket of lashes thicker than hers.
Revision: Up close, his eyes were more olive than emerald, fringed with a blanket of lashes thicker than hers.

What a terrible fucking sentence.  It’s like I got paid by the word or something. Let’s unpack this: (1) “She could see” is meaningless. In the scene, Emma is looking at Dan, her love interest. Of course she could see him. She’s not blind. (2) Since I’m using “olive” and “emerald,” it’s pretty clear green is the color I mean. No need to use “green” before either of those more specific descriptors. (3) Why mention his olive skin tone in this sentence? Let’s keep the emphasis on the eyes, and move the skin tone thing into an earlier scene.  Plus, it repeats the word “close” already used in the sentence opening.

5.
Original: Mrs. Evans strode to the front of the class with a thick stack of papers in her hand.
Revision: Mrs. Evans strode to the front of the class with a stack of papers in hand.

This one’s relatively minor, but still deserves attention. It’s already been established that the class is getting their Gatsby papers back. Is it likely her stack would be thin? “Thick” is redundant based on the situation.  “Her hand” is also redundant, unless Mrs. Evans is using someone else’s hand to carry the papers.

6.
Original: She did not curve the “j,” but wrote it as a long, solid line with a dot on top.
Revision: She drew the “j” as a long, solid line with a dot on top.

First off, if Emma didn’t do something, why am I wasting the reader’s time with that? Get it the hell out of there. Secondly, while “wrote” is an accurate verb, there’s obviously some artistic effect Emma is paying attention to. “Draw” conveys that better than “wrote.” Now that I look at this again, I’d probably take out “long,” too. If the “j” was drawn short, that might be worthy of note. But a “long”-drawn j?  Seems normal, and thus unworthy of note.

7.
Original: She crossed it out, jiggling her pen in scribbles through the childish, malformed letters.
Revision: She scribbled through the childish, malformed letters.

I have a really bad habit of doing this! See how “she crossed it out” is redundant based on what comes afterward? Is there any way that jiggling your pen in scribbles over something could not be considered crossing it out? Probably not, and definitely not in this context. So why the eff did I write it twice? So lame.  Secondly, why did I say “jiggling” and “scribbles”? One verb can convey all of that—so just stick with “scribbled.”

8.
Original: Elvira was already waiting for her at the entrance of the locker room.
Revision: Elvira was already waiting at the locker room entrance.

This is another minor edit, but one that needs to be made. Since Elvira is Emma’s badminton partner (and it’s already been established that Elvira waits for her before heading into the gym), “for her” is unnecessary. Who else would Elvira wait for? Also, why be all complicated with “entrance of the locker room”? I can save two whole words by saying “locker room entrance” instead. Bam.

9.
Original:  Dan knew everything, and he was the only one whose opinion she wanted.
Revision: Dan knew everything about her situation, and his was the only opinion she wanted.

This is the rare sentence that got longer after a revision, and I’ll explain why. In the first version, you could interpret it to mean that Dan is the smartest guy in the world who literally knows everything and makes Stephen Hawking look like Lenny from Of Mice and Men. That’s not how Emma means it. She means he’s the only one she’s told everything to, which calls for some more specificity—hence “about her situation.” Secondly, the end of the first sentence is a fustercluck. What was I thinking? If opinions are the subject of the clause, keep them that way.

10.
Original: Witch soup started in a big yellow bucket that had originally been loaded with sand tools.
Revision: Witch soup started in a big yellow bucket, originally loaded with sand tools.

This is another common mistake I make. “Had been” is a complicated verb pairing. It drags down the speed of a sentence, although it can be far more accurate than “was” if you really need to specify time in the past.  In this case, though, it’s not necessary to use a verb at all. Adding the comma and shortening the description preserves the meaning of the sentence and makes it easier to read and comprehend.

11.
Original: Emma picked up her backpack and went back into the courtyard.
Revision: Emma picked up her backpack and returned to the courtyard.

Remember the first example, when shortening a sentence and adding clarity was accomplished by swapping out a phrase for a word? Keep an eye out for pointlessly wordy descriptors like this. They happen a lot (to me, at least).

12.
Original: Maybe the act of thinking about something over and over again made it seem possible, even if it wasn’t.
Revision: Maybe the act of thinking something over and over again made it seem possible, even if it wasn’t.

This is probably the nitpickiest sentence of the bunch! Still, if you’re using words and phrases, you have to prove you understand what they mean. You’re a writer. It’s your job. If the word “over” in this context means “once more” and I use it twice, “again” is redundant. There’s no way for something not to happen again if it happens over and over.

13.
Original: If she didn’t go to college, if something happened that made it impossible, what would she be missing?
Revision: If she didn’t go to college, if something happened that made it impossible, what would she miss?

This is a two-pronged attack on passivity: (1) If I use the verb “to make,” it means something happens. That’s implied in the verb itself. You can’t “make” something without causing something to happen. So I don’t need to specify that something “happened” to “make” it impossible. It’s redundant. (2) “Be missing” contains two verbs. Two. Seriously? Isn’t there a way to convey this with one damn verb? Of course there is. I just had to find it. “Miss” instead of “be missing” is sharper and more direct.

14.
Original: When her mom picked her up, she was the first one to speak.
Revision: When her mom picked her up, she was the first to speak.

This is an interesting example, and one that brings a stylistic choice into the matter more than the other examples above. For starters, let’s look at what got axed: the word “one.” It’s totally unnecessary. It modifies Emma and her mother, but it doesn’t matter whether Emma and her mom are humans or aliens—the point is that Emma spoke first. Now, you might be wondering why I didn’t just say that:  “…Emma spoke first.”  It’s shorter and punchier, which I mentioned above as being desirable. What can I say? I like the symmetry of the longer form. Six words before the comma, six words after. I like the emphasis on the word “she.” There’s a rhythm to the sentence that gets lost if I go with “Emma spoke first.” I like the rhythm. It’s gonna get ya. So that’s what I’m choosing here.

See how much fun that was? That’s what being a writer is all about. Making choices.  Give yourself the opportunity to make them.

Handing your first draft off to an editor (or worse, publishing it) robs you of the chance to make these kinds of choices. Get up in there. Make your words tremble at the thought of being chopped into pieces.  Whip them into shape. If, like me, you are the furthest thing from assertive in real life, this is your chance to go full dominatrix. Enjoy it.

Why Having a Day Job Is Good for the Creativity

Ruth Brown Snyder. In the electric chair.
If this doesn't creep you out,
I don't know what will.

Have you ever seen a photo of a woman being executed in the electric chair? You have now. But what do this woman, a day job, and the life of a working writer have in common?

I'll tell you.

I work full time, with an hour commute each way. All told, my time is not my own from 6:40 a.m. until 6:00 p.m. 

That's a lot of time that I can't control or do anything with. 

So when I start complaining, it's almost always about not having enough time to write new books and market existing books. I'm deeply, deeply jealous of writer friends who don't work and can spend all day toiling over marketing plans and promoting their books. I can't. And while this feels like a huge disadvantage most days, I'm trying to look on the bright side. 

So I found three ways my day job makes me a better writer.

1. Money. As Dean Koontz wrote in How to Write Best Selling Fiction, "Money is freedom; money is time; money is fame; money is respect; money is a yardstick of many things, but most of all, money is money." I have bills. Lots of them. So devoting 11+ hours a day to being able to pay them is not only necessary, but it helps my mental state remain unstressed and clear for writing. 

If all I'm doing is worrying about the electricity getting shut off or the car repossessed, I'm not going to give a crap about made-up people or worlds. In that respect, having a day job makes my non-office time all about what I want to do. I'm not looking for a job, stressing out, or drifting between friends, hoping someone will feed me for free. Every minute off the clock is spent planning, dreaming, or doing. Yes, you could argue that a true writer writes no matter what. But even true writers really need to eat. Plus, getting foreclosed would make it really hard to charge my laptop. 

2. SEO and social media knowledge. I'm a writer. But I also know a bit about SEO. And a bit about social media. I read most of the big SEO blogs and have two monitors at work, where the good folks of Google+ scroll by all day long, presenting helpful insider tips for me on marketing, social media, writing, self-publishing, and of course, life insurance. I file all that knowledge away in my brain (and, if my brain fails, Evernote) for the day when I have the time to unleash it. 

I wouldn't have been forced to learn as much about social media as I have without this job. I resisted it pretty heavily until my paycheck became partly dependent on it. I still resist it in part...I refuse to get a smartphone (no Instagram for me, folks). At the same time, I have license to check every network there is, absorb as much knowledge as I can, and learn as much as I can to deploy on command and for my own benefit (after hours, of course). I have more weapons at my disposal than I did before I had this job. In this world, marketing is everything. And I'm so much better at it now than I was before, when I thought marketing was posting a new book on this blog.

3. The occasional stranger-than-fiction story that falls in my lap. I write about life insurance, all day every day. To make sure I have something new to say, I have to dig into some pretty weird stories. One weird story involves the woman in the picture, Ruth Brown Snyder. I was writing a blog post about the movie Double Indemnity, where life insurance fraud is a plot point. Come to find out, the movie is based on a novella by James M. Cain, who based the story on a real-life insurance fraud case.

Check this shit out. 

Ruth Brown Snyder was married to Albert Snyder, but having an affair with Henry Judd Gray. She told Gray that she wanted to convince her husband to get a life insurance policy and then kill him. Getting the husband to get a policy worked just fine. But she made seven (count 'em!) unsuccessful attempts to kill Albert before she and Gray decided to try something different. They garrotted Albert and made it look like a home invasion robbery. 

But there's some backstory you also need to know before we proceed. Why did Ruth want to kill Albert? It might have been because he made no secret of his real love, a woman named Jessie Guishard who died before she and Albert could be married. He loved her for years, which, you know, probably made Ruth feel awesome about herself. This guy talked about Jessie, kept her portrait on the wall, named his boat after her, and referred to her as "the finest woman I have ever met." I kinda feel for Ruth on this one. 

Anyway, so the cops are investigating this supposed home invasion gone wrong. They think it's kind of weird that nothing actually went missing. When they found a paper with "J.G." on it, they asked Ruth who "J.G." was. Ruth asks them what Judd Gray (her lover) has to do with anything. But the cops weren't referring to Gray. They were referring to one of Albert's papers with "J.G." on it--Jesse Guishard. So Ruth just handed them her lover's name. (Way to go, Ruth.) Once the cops started looking at the name Ruth dropped, they put two and two together.

Ruth and Gray were arrested, tried, and found guilty of murder. Both were sentenced to death via the electric chair. Of course, all photography of the execution was forbidden. But reporter Tom Howard was from Chicago (not New York) and knew he wouldn't be recognized as a reporter on the scene. He rigged up a weird leg camera that would take pictures without anyone knowing. He snapped his shot, and it was plastered all over the front page of newspapers the next day. The photo was described as one of the most famous images of the 1920s. The camera Howard used to take the shot is now in the Smithsonian.

James M. Cain was a reporter at the time of this trial. He wasn't covering it, but it was big news at the time. (Who did cover it? Mary Roberts Rinehart, D.W. Griffith, and Damon Runyan). When he wrote his novella, Double Indemnity, he interviewed some insurance agents in L.A. One told him,  "All the big crime mysteries in this country are locked up in insurance company files, and the writer that gets wise to that...is going to make himself rich."

Guess I'll keep the day job.
Until the whole money tree thing happens.

So, not only did I find this incredible quote and this wacked-out story, I now have an idea for a short story of my own. And I got it because of my day job. 

Serendipitous, yes? 

The lesson here is that no matter how unrelated your day job seems, if you're a writer, it's feeding your brain. It's feeding your bank account. It's putting ideas and experiences in front of you that you might not have otherwise. Process them, and then use them in the work you want to do.

5 Lessons Writers Can Learn from Pancho and Lefty

I grew up on country music. This was the late '70s and early '80s, so we're talking real country. Outlaw country.

Country that would duct-tape Taylor Swift's mouth shut, take away all Brantley Gilbert's jewelry, and tell Keith Urban that rehab is for quitters.

One of my all-time favorite songs is "Pancho and Lefty," made famous by Willie Nelson and Merle Haggard. It's a story song, written by Townes Van Zandt. I still hang on every word like there's a secret nugget of truth waiting to be discovered.

How is there so much embedded in one sub-five-minute song? Have a listen and we'll find out.




Now, how can writers learn to tell a story so simply, with so much depth? Let's take a look.

1. A first-person narrator telling a story about someone else can be really effective.

No less a writer than Jonathan Franzen tells us that we should write in third person. This is one of those "establishment" rules for serious literary works. The reasoning? Third person is more remote (read: mysterious), which makes the reader work harder. It's also less limiting if you want to explore multiple characters. Plus, you get to create both the narrator's persona and your main character's (note: these are NOT the same thing).

"Pancho and Lefty" doesn't follow the third-person rule. It has a first-person narrator; however, the narrator isn't the subject of the song. This accomplishes two things:

True story.

(1) it creates immediacy with the use of the "I" voice, which is why many writers use first-person voice
(2) it generates mystery since the "I" voice isn't the subject of the song.

Our narrator probably knows Pancho and Lefty, and might have witnessed the events in the song. But we don't know. (Mystery? Check.) Our narrator says, "Livin' on the road, my friend, is gonna keep you free and clean." Who is the "friend"? Is it the generic use of "friend" that he's using to tell a campfire story? Or is he singing to an actual friend, maybe Lefty himself, after the events of the song? The narrator holds himself back from us, not making this clear. (Remote? Check.)

2. The right similes can set a tone without a single adjective.

In the first verse, we get two similes in a one-two punch: "Now you wear your skin like iron / Your breath as hard as kerosene."

Think about that. What does it mean to wear skin like iron? It means you think you're invincible. You think you can take a licking and keep on ticking. Or it means you've hardened yourself to the outside world so it can't reach you, no matter how hard it tries. (Unless you rust...that would suck.)  Each of these meanings make the simile richer. And here's the kicker: who is the singer talking to? Who wears his skin like iron? A man listening to the story? Lefty? Is he talking about himself in some weird reflective way? We don't know. But we do know this song is going to be about a mysterious bad-ass. This simile sets a mood, which is what all good storytellers must do.

And what the hell does it mean to have breath as hard as kerosene? Kerosene's a liquid. Liquid, by definition, isn't hard. Or is he referring to its scent, its noxious fumes? Those things are gases, which also by definition, are not hard. We're taking a trip through the three stages of matter here, just working on an interpretation of a single simile. Using "hard" to describe something that isn't hard works well here, especially following on the heels of the "skin like iron" simile. Skin is not like iron, and breath is not hard. But isn't that so much more effective than saying, "This is a song about some hardened criminals?"

3. Using action as a form of characterization works really well.

Also a true story.

It's pretty boring when someone says, "John was a good man" or "John was a bad man." What does "good" or "bad" mean? These aren't absolutes, especially in fiction. It's far more effective to say, "John rescued the cat in the tree because it belonged to the little girl down the block" or "John skinned the neighbor's cat in retribution for the loud party three nights back." This lets the reader place John appropriately on the scale of goodness and badness.

That's what our narrator is doing in this song. Pancho "wore his gun outside his pants / For all the honest world to feel."  I think "feel" should be "fear" here, but that's just me. In any case, the narrator isn't saying, "Pancho was really good at shooting people" or "Pancho had a death wish." No. He's telling us something about Pancho that's revealed through his action. What does it mean to wear a gun outside one's pants? Several things: Pancho means business. Pancho isn't afraid of conflict. Pancho is confident in his abilities. Pancho wants you to stay the fuck out of his way. So simple, yet so effective.

Lefty gets the same kind of characterization in the beginning of the next verse. "Lefty he can't sing the blues / all night long like he used to / The dust that Pancho bit down south / ended up in Lefty's mouth."

That's a powerful way of saying, "Lefty feels like shit for the role he played in Pancho's death." Instead of using the most obvious word on the planet ("guilt"), the narrator ties Lefty to Pancho's death using setting and figurative language. Lefty doesn't have a literal mouthful of dirt. But he's carrying a crap-ton of baggage that has to do with Pancho's death, so much baggage that he can't even sing anymore. We're left to wonder...is that how Lefty earns a living? Is he so broken up over his buddy's death that can't earn a living? This image conveys emotion and suggests conflict in a few simple words. Damn.

4. Be specific with names and places.

There's a beautiful juxtaposition in this song between the vagueness of the story itself and the concrete setting. We don't know who the narrator is. We don't know if he's talking to Lefty or about him. We don't know for sure what went down between Pancho and Lefty (although we can guess). But we do know Pancho died in Mexico. And we know Lefty "split for Ohio." Later, we get more detail: Cleveland's cold. Even here, we have layers. No shit, Cleveland is cold. The average temperature in January is about 28 degrees Fahrenheit. But is it also cold because Lefty lacks Pancho's companionship?

What I love here is the specificity of "Cleveland." Lefty didn't go "out west" or "down south." There's something so much more pathetic about him shacking up in Cleveland, a non-glamorous city that's stuck between the midwest and the east. With all apologies to Cleveland, perhaps the idea here is Lefty's in nowheresville. But rather than say it, the narrator uses a specific place that plants that idea in our heads.

5. Leave a little (or a lot) to the reader's imagination.

Probably not a true story.

One of the best parts of this song is its mystery. The narrator doesn't tell us exactly what happened. How did the Federales finally get Pancho? Why did Lefty split on the day he died, with a mysterious sum of money? Did Lefty sell Pancho out? Probably. Why did Lefty do it? We have no idea. A secret dream of making it big as a singer someday? The need to get out of a life of crime? Why didn't he have the balls to say, "Hey, Pancho, I'm gonna hang up the old gun belt now and start singing showtunes for tips. You're cool with that, right?" Is it really a commentary on friendship, on weakness of character, or misguided loyalty? Or all these things? Or none of them?

We don't know, and that's the way it should be. That's why this song needs a narrator who isn't Pancho or Lefty. That's why it's so much more powerful when we hear about Lefty's inability to sing anymore. That's why it's still moving at the end of the song, when not only Lefty but the Federales are old and gray. Everyone involved still remembers, still feels bad, still has some regrets. It's that important to them. And now it's that important to me, because I've just written 1,500 damn words about an old-ass country song.  

Writer, Edit Thyself: Why You Shouldn't Hire an Editor (Yet)

I've been reading a lot of writers' blogs and posts in writers' communities on G+. One thing I keep seeing is the recommendation (commandment, from some) that all indie writers must hire an editor before (a) sending work to an agent, or (b) self-publishing.

I understand where this advice is coming from, but...I have a big problem with this. And this is from someone who earned her highest salary EVER as a professional editor. (Feel free to laugh at this. My bank account does.) I know a few editors, and most of them are incredibly nice and talented people. I have nothing against them. I do have something against lazy writers who can't learn on their own.

If you ask me, the solution isn't to hire someone to make your writing better. It's to make it better your own damn self.

Suck at editing? Learn.
Suck at grammar? Learn.
Suck at revising? So do lots of people. Guess what? They fucking learn.

Anything worth doing is worth doing well. If you can't commit the time to learn how to use the English language well enough to pass muster with a reader, are you really cut out to be a writer? Or do you just like the cheap thrill of how easy it is to tell a story?  There's nothing wrong with storytelling. But it's only half of your toolkit.  You can't buy the other half.  Okay, maybe you can. But it's lazy and wrong and I'm going to berate you for it.

Objection #1: But as a writer, I'm too close to my story to see its flaws.
Bullshit. Read some books. Is yours like theirs? If so, you're doing it right. Sit down and make a list of the kinds of things that happen in good books. See the story arcs? Diagram your own story arc. Is there an arc? There are all kinds of story arc tools you can use before you write your story to make sure it's plotted and paced well. If you have any analytic capability at all, apply it at this stage in the game. If you don't have any analytic capability at all, you might not be cut out for writing. If you have analytic capability but this sounds like a hell of a lot of work, you're damn right. Stop reading blog posts and go diagram your damn book.

Objection #2: But I've read my manuscript so many times that my eyes glaze over the typos.
Bullshit. Read it out loud. Read it backwards. Print it out and look at it on paper. Put it in a drawer for a month and come back to it. None of these are impossible tasks unless you refuse to devote the necessary time. Are you refusing to devote the necessary time? Are you short-cutting what I hope is the most important thing in the world to you when you're doing it? If you have a nervous feeling in the pit of your stomach, if your cheeks are red, or if you're thinking of other things you should be doing right now, you're who I'm talking to. Don't ignore it. Embrace it, and then get it done. It might lengthen your production schedule to include a cooling-off period and then final proofing, but that's not my problem. It's yours.

Objection #3: But I'm just not good at grammar. I need someone to fix a few commas and things.
Bullshit. If you're not that good at grammar, how are you crafting sentences that shock and awe? How are you being careful when you pick your verbs? How are you playing with language to create the precise effect you want in a reader's mind? Or are you just whizzing through it all, using descriptions you've read in books because it's easier that way? Doing shit like this gets you nowhere. I read the jacket copy for a self-published romance novel where the author actually wrote that the dangerous and intriguing mystery man knocked the heroine's world on its axis. I kid you not. This is the kind of writer I'm talking about.  I saw a second writer who tried to convince me of a character's ability to deploy "feminine whiles." These people need to become better craftsmen. Right now, they're just swinging hammers with a blindfold on and hoping they hit a nail.

Objection #4: But editors need money. I have the money. What's the problem?
This is a slippery slope that often ends in bullshit. Replace "editors" with "prostitutes." Are you really doing this out of the goodness of your heart for your editor? Don't use this as an excuse not to learn to revise or proofread yourself.  Trust me.  We editors are a skilled and wily bunch. We'll survive.

What do you think...would Michael Crichton have appreciated
being immortalized on a purple gingham background?

Objection #5: But I need someone who will push me to do better.
Bullshit. If you want to do better, you can and you will. If you have the desire to become a better writer, don't do it by hiring someone to tell you why you suck.  That's stupid.  Figure it out yourself so you're not dependent on an editor for every book you write. It's like this:  "Give a man a fish and he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish and he eats for a lifetime."  Teach yourself to fucking fish.  Do it by reading, experimenting, writing more, getting critiques from friends and beta readers, then rewriting again and again until you've produced something that leaves them speechless.  And then you can hire an editor for that extra 10% of effort that gets you to the full 110%.

An editor can be a part of that solution, but only a part, and only after you've exhausted every inner working of your soul that can go into the creation and recreation of your book.

Tip: A really good creative writing professor once told me that the best way to learn how to write good stories is to copy a great story out by hand. As you write the other writer's words, you'll absorb how they flow and how they're put together. You'll be forced to slow down and really read the story.  He suggested doing this with Flannery O'Connor. Have you done this yet? I didn't think so.

Objection #6: Why do you hate people so much?
As Bukowski said, "I don't hate people. I just feel better when they aren't around."

If you love writing, great. So do I. But doing only the fun parts is like what a five-year-old does when she strews toys all across the living room, plays with one or two of them, and then abandons the mess to go play outside. Or when you cook a great meal, eat it, and then leave dirty dishes lying everywhere. No, it's not fun to clean them. But paying someone else to do it because it's a difficult or distasteful task is cheating.

Think of the great writers of history: Homer, Sophocles, Chaucer, Shakespeare. They learned their shit and they learned it well. Yes, guys like Hemingway and Fitzgerald received editing from their publishers...only once they had turned in a manuscript that was as honed and polished as they could get it. They didn't slap-dash anything the page, do a Microsoft spellcheck, and hire someone to make sure it wasn't a mess. They agonized and revised and revised again. Your agony level needs to be somewhere north of poison-oak-in-your-nether-region. If you're at lemon-juice-in-hangnail stage, you're not nearly there yet.

Yes, beta readers can be helpful. As the book's writer, you cannot approximate a first-time reader's experience (unless you become psychic or telepathic). But fixing commas and quotation marks and hyphens and holes in your plot an elephant could fit through simply because you can't learn how to do it yourself?

Give me a break.  You can do better.  (Have I mentioned I love memes?)

8 Signs You Are Not the Chuck Norris of Writing

As a writer, you're a target. You're putting yourself out into the world and asking both readers and ubiquitous Internet heroes to comment on your work.

Some of these folks are looking to take you down, to give you a bad review, to tell you you don't know what you're doing. They are the Kim Jong-uns of the Internet: puffy, whiny, self-important, and probably in need of a kick in the pants. As a writer, the last thing on earth you want to do is give these people ammunition. You want to be the Chuck Norris of writing, the one-man-army capable of telling a legion of disbelievers to go straight to hell: Vaya con Chee-Tos, mothertruckers.

One of the best ways to do this is to make sure your fundamentals--your phrasing and grammar--are correct. Many writers skip this step, preferring to rely on their storytelling ability to carry them through the process. But this would be like Chuck Norris skipping all the other color belts that lead up to a black belt. Did Chuck Norris skip out on the yellow belt or the purple belt? I think not. He mastered that shit because he's Chuck Norris.  You can do the same.

One more note, before we dive in: Chuck Norris would never use Microsoft's grammar check. He knows it's wrong half the time. He ignores it, and you should, too. Chuck Norris learned how to write by reading.  A lot. And more than just kung-fu how-to manuals. Chuck Norris reads classics, sci-fi, historicals, biographies, and oh yes, even a vampire book or two.  If you want to learn to write like Chuck Norris, you need to read out of your pay grade. 

In any case, Chuck and I offer this starter kit of 8 stupid mistakes never to make with your writing. Some of these are actual mistakes I've seen in books, many self-published. Go forth and conquer.   

1. You use turns of phrase without actually knowing what they mean. 

• "...the change knocked her world on its axis..."  This is not correct. An axis is an imaginary line around which an object (presumably a planet) rotates. When something incredible happens to your character, her world cannot be knocked ON its axis. It was there to begin with. Her world may, however, be knocked OFF its axis.  
• "...step foot in..."  This is everywhere. People say it, but it IS NOT RIGHT. The phrase is "set foot in." It might make sense at first because "step" is a logical word to combine with "foot." But the sense in which it is used is totally wrong. To "step" automatically implies you are using your foot, which makes the use of the word "foot" stupid and redundant. To "set" does not automatically imply you are performing this action with a foot; therefore, it is reasonable that you then specify "foot" after the verb.  
• "...she thought to herself..."  Unless your character is telepathic, there is no way she could "think" to anyone else.

2. You use adverbs when the verb you use already implies that adjective. 

• "...tripped clumsily."  Can you trip in a way that's not clumsy? Even if you can, is that what your character is doing?
• "...shouted loudly."  Is it even possible to shout quietly? If it is, "shouted" is the wrong damn verb.
• "...jumped quickly."  Let's see you jump slowly. I dare you to try. I dare Chuck Norris to try.

3.  You use adverbs too much in general. We all know adverbs are to be used sparingly. But occasionally, they creep in and that can be okay. But it's not okay when you're using an adverb because it's easier and faster than describing how a character does something. You're a writer. You're supposed to be describing how characters do things. That's your job. So do better at it. Here are some examples of lazy adverb use:

• "You murdered my nephew," he said angrily. Really? Because I always thought proclamations of murder were issued joyfully. Gosh, wouldn't it be nice if the punctuation could somehow reveal the character's emotion? If only someone had invented a single punctuation mark that conveys strong feeling.
• "Constantly stepping from foot to foot, Joe looked nervous." In this case, the adverb is unnecessary. Stepping from foot to foot already implies the motion is constant. 
• "Moving slowly through the graveyard..." If your verb requires an adverb for the reader to get the picture, you picked a shitty verb. 

4.  You misuse prepositions.  Oh God, the prepositions. They are under attack. I don't know how this happened. It's like waking up one day to find out that all the streets have been renamed and now you have no idea what people are saying when they're trying to give you directions on how to get to the grocery store. And you're like, "Man, all I wanted is some mac and cheese. Why are you making it so hard?" Don't make it hard on your reader. Prepositions are the street signs that tell your reader where your sentence is going. If you don't use the right street sign, your reader is lost.  And lost people get angry. Sometimes they get murdered by drifters. Do you want your readers to get murdered by drifters? Don't answer that. Like Blair Waldorf, I rely on plausible deniability.

• "...ponder on..."  You ponder something. You don't ponder on it. If you tell me you're pondering on a Corvette, I will imagine you perched upon a car, thinking about a subject you failed to specify.
• "She was ignorant to the fact that he was an ex-con."  She ain't the only one. You can be ignorant of a fact, but not ignorant to it. There's no easy way to learn this stuff. You just have to read good books and absorb these idioms.
• "...disappointed from..."  You can be disappointed by the fact that you died from dysentery, but you cannot be disappointed from the fact that you died by dysentery.
• "She glanced on her watch."  A glance is not a tangible thing, so it cannot actually be on the watch. She may, however, glance at her watch.
• "You can never go wrong on fruits and vegetables."  I BEG TO DIFFER. You can go very, very wrong. In order not to go so wrong, try going with them instead of on them.

5.  You use descriptive dialogue tags. You've probably seen Elmore Leonard's advice for writers, one point of which states that you should never use anything other than "said." 98% of the time, he's right. There is rarely a case when you need to use a dialogue tag. If you use one, you're following the same lazy pattern of writing indicated by adverb use. Your dialogue, in combination with the motion of the character in the scene, should tell the reader how that line is spoken. If you have to specify with a dialogue tag, you haven't effectively conveyed the feeling of the scene, the emotion of the character, or his or her mindset. 

• "Eww! I hate spiders!" she shrieked. The problem with dialogue tags is that they are often unnecessary. The exclamation points tell you this character has strong feelings about spiders. She is probably angry or afraid, and you as the writer should provide the context to tell us which it is. Using both exclamation points and a tag such as cried/shrieked/wailed/exclaimed is overkill.
• "And the best part is...I never pressed play!" he cackled.  I call C+C Music Factory on this one. A cackle is a laugh, right? Can you actually speak all these words while cackling? Or is the laugh coming between the words? Or did the cackle come after, in which case the words themselves were not "cackled"? Or is the laugh really even a cackle to begin with? Do you see what kind of problems a poorly thought out dialogue tag can get you into? 

6.  You get subject-object agreement wrong. This is a tricky one, but once you know what to look for, you'll see it everywhere. Remember, no one's asking you to speak properly. You don't have to obey this rule when you're talking to your mom or your wife, but you do have to obey it on the page. Because if you don't, someone who does know the rule is going to put down your book and think, "Amateur." And by someone, I mean Chuck Norris.

• "Americans who love The Fast and the Furious live their life a quarter mile at a time." What's wrong here? The subject of the sentence is "Americans." You're making a statement about a large group of people. But you used the word "life," which is not plural. Do all Americans live one life?  Apparently not, since "One Life to Live" was canceled. See? Even ABC figured this shit out. Now it's your turn. You want to say that Americans live their lives a quarter mile at a time. Now you're cooking with gas.
• "One cannot have their cake and eat it, too." You would think that a word like "one" is enough to tell you that it means "one."  As in singular. As in not plural. So who are all these other folks you've invited into your sentence by using "their"? Is your "one" a schizophrenic? Are you a schizophrenic? If not, shape this shit up by keeping this a party of one: One cannot have one's cake and eat it, too.  

7. You use semicolons. Badly. You do not know how to use them, yet they appear throughout your book. Why is this? Do you randomly sprinkle mathematical formulas throughout your book just because they look intellectual and important? That's what lots of people do with semicolons. They look fancy, and probably imply that your sentence is multi-layered and complicated....right? No. Just...no.  If you can't tell me the rule for semicolons, right now, don't use them. Ever. Until you learn the rule, which is this:

• One rule to rule all the rules: Semicolons are used to separate TWO COMPLETE THOUGHTS. If either part cannot stand on its own as a grammatically correct entity, DO NOT USE A SEMICOLON. Chuck Norris will hurt you if you do this. If there's one thing Chuck Norris hates, it's bad semicolon usage. Don't believe me? Try it, and then go to sleep. See if you wake up.
• "One time at band camp; I did things my mom wouldn't approve of." A semicolon is not a comma. These two thoughts are clearly connected, but they cannot stand on their own.  "One time at band camp" is not a sentence...it is the beginning of a sentence.  And yes, I know that sentence ended with a preposition. Some rules were meant to be broken. Deal with it.
• "Rochelle had more to do that Saturday night; more than get wasted." Again, the second half of this sentence is placed for emphasis--it is not a sentence in and of itself. Only the cheese stands alone. Sentence fragments are not cheese.

8.  You confuse the most basic contractions you learned in first flippin' grade. I'm serious. Now you've got Chuck Norris *and* your first grade teacher really pissed at you. Is that what you want? He'll hold you down and punch you while your first grade teacher spits in your face. Or just drags her nails along the chalkboard. That's no one's good time. So do the world a favor and just learn what six-year-olds in good schools already have.

• For the last time: the apostrophe means it's a contraction. Contraction means two words are smashed together tighter than Kim Kardashian's boobs in a bustier. Some of the letters got kicked out because they couldn't breathe. The apostrophe tells us those letters are missing and someone might want to find them someday. Or not. It's up to you. 
• You're/your.  You're going to get your ass kicked by Chuck Norris for fucking this up. If you cannot replace the word with "you are," you should use "your."
• It's/its. It's a damn shame the snake left its home and decided to sleep in your bed instead. If you cannot replace the word with "it is," you should use "its."
• Their/they're/there. They're late for their own funeral because Chuck Norris got there first. 

If you're seeing some of your own mistakes listed here, now you have the power to fix them. This is progress! If you're not seeing any of these mistakes in your writing, look harder. Look even harder still. And then, if you still don't see these mistakes, congratulations on possibly being the Chuck Norris of writing. I salute you.

Book Writing Strategy, Part 2: Trim Like You Mean It

If you've been following the saga of my current work in progress, you know the first draft strategy involved hauling ass to write 400 pages.  410, to be exact.  I finished in a somewhat burnt-out stage, but theoretically impressed at the fact that I'd done it all in about 9 weeks.

The second step is a rigorous chopping of those 410 pages.  I'm almost through with the first editing pass, with one more to do after this.  The stats are a little surprising: I can't believe I've already cut this many words!  I'm still 45 pages from the end, and I know the end sucks, which is why I've been avoiding it.  But up to this point, here's the blow-by-blow for the first draft and this revision:

First Draft
Final word count: 117,531
Final page count: 410

Second Draft (almost done):
Word count: 93,550
Page count: 345

Total words chopped: 23,981
Total pages chopped: 65

Now, you might wonder why I'm bothering to chop so damn many pages.  The answer is threefold:

(1) Anytime you can chop, you should.  The best fiction is *always* told in the fewest number of words and sentences.  You want your story to skip along at a tight pace, without extra words cluttering things up.  If your attention wanders at all while re-reading, something's not right.  In my experience, it usually means the characters aren't getting to the point.  Or there isn't enough tension.  Cut the parts that make your attention wander, or figure out why it's wandering.  Is it just too long?  Does it fail to advance the plot or offer a new perspective on your character?

If cutting is painful for you (as it is sometimes for me), here's a tip:  I keep all the lines that got axed in a text file, always open as I'm revising.  That way, everything I cut is still there...I could add it back if I discover that it really did add something I don't want to let go of.

(2) Don't forget that revision includes addition as well as subtraction.  There are two or three scenes I think I need to add to this book.  I'm picking apart the main character's motivation, and I don't think she's been pushed hard enough to defend it.  There are at least two scenes I need to add, where both her friends and her family question the path she's taking.  I think readers are going to have the same questions, so I need her to defend against their disbelief.  The problem is that, with a ms that's already well over 117,000 words, you have no room whatsoever to add.

Ruthless chopping gives you the breathing room you need to step back and figure out what's missing.  Then, you have all the space in the world to add material where you  need it, without the pressure of thinking, "Shit, I can't make this scene more than 3,000 words."  Don't limit yourself--free yourself by cutting what doesn't belong before you go back and add what does belong.  This works especially well after your first editing pass because as you read the book a second time, you'll have a better feel for where your story needs to be shored up.

(3) It forces you to dig deep into your story.  What's really necessary?  This is where you think about plot and character on a deeper level than pure language and the cutting of unnecessary words, like in step 1.  Think about scenes and chapters in the big picture of your theme and what you're really trying to say.  Does that scene add to your theme?  Does it set up the next plot complication?  Does it tell us something we didn't already know?

If a scene's sole purpose is to show that one character is a pain in the ass for your hero, ask yourself--is that something we already knew?  Can you combine the important words or events from the second instance of that pain-in-the-ass character to the first, so we get one powerful confrontation or instance where we're told that this character will be a thorn in the hero's side?  If we've already established this, we don't need to beat a dead horse.  The next time we see this thorn, he or she should be actively plotting the hero's demise, not merely annoying him or her once more.

There are eight million reasons to revise.  I'm just covering a few of them here to get you started.  I've said it before, but I'll say it again....revision is the most important thing you can do for your writing.  It's where your craftsmanship shines through.  Your plot might be inspired, but unless your writing and editing support that vision, it's not going to win over agents, editors, or your future readers.

My husband shakes his head when I mention spending hours on a single paragraph, but that's the kind of attention you have to give to crucial scenes.  Read them over and over and over.  Inspect every word and make sure it's earned its place on the page.  Any time you stop reading, whether because of a strange reply from a character or a phrase you have to read twice to understand, stay stopped.  Go back over it and tweak it eight ways from Sunday until it's so smooth you can read over it without a snag.  This might mean you devote an hour to one conversation, or have three versions that you have to decide between.

This is how it should be.  I am firmly convinced that this is the only way you can make sure you stand out from the crowd.  If you can give that much love and attention to your work, editors and agents will notice.  And so will readers.    

Book Writing Strategy: First Draft, Haul Ass

The first draft of the new book is done.  I finished it Friday night, while on vacation in Oregon.  I still feel stunned, which is pretty much what happens every time I finish writing a book.  It's like being immersed in this whole world, for 9 full weeks, and then being thrown out of it.

How I feel after writing
409 pages in 9 weeks.

Of course, I'm not really thrown out of it.  The book isn't done done.  It's just first draft done.  With this book, there will be a lot of clean-up required.  I tried a new strategy with this one, which was: ignore everything that slows you down.  Just go.  Everything can be fixed later.  I'm calling this strategy "First Draft, Haul Ass," as opposed to the other books I've written, which involved painstaking research and plotting and outlines and progress that was much slower.  Let's see how this method differs:

The method:  First Draft, Haul Ass

The result:  409 pages in 9 weeks

The benefit:  It takes the pressure off getting everything right the first time, which is what used to kill my momentum (and probably some of my creativity) before.  You know it's going to be a shitty first draft, a la Anne Lamott, but once it's on the page, you have the book's skeleton.  It isn't perfect, but it's there.  You prove to yourself that you can do it before you go back and start doubting yourself during the editing phase.

A better metaphor for the benefit:  Think of your draft as the frame of a stained-glass window.  You know what the window's gonna look like.  You know what story the window has to tell.  You know it has a point at the top, arched side supports, and a flat base.  You've sketched out the background, the figure in the window, and dabbed in some of the colors.  But when you revise, you brighten the color, you shift some of the lines that didn't come out quite right in the draft form, and you paint with surer strokes because you've had time to really think about what you want where.  In other words, when it's time to paint the face of Mary or John or Joseph or whoever's in the stained-glass window, you know exactly which direction their eyes are looking.    

Top time-saving tip for using this method: If you get to a place where you need to stop and look something up (a historical fact, a state bird, a chemical element, whatever), just don't.  Write your sentence and when you get the point where you don't know what the thing is, use a couple of XXXs in a row, like this:

Emma looked at her math book.  Graph the function of XXX.  I can't do it, she thought.

In this book, my main character is a high-school junior.  I remember taking the classes she took, but I don't remember the nitty gritty details of pre-calculus or Honors chem.  So I put in a bunch of XXXs in the first draft, and now it's my job to go back through my old high-school notes (or a chemistry book found in Google books) and fill in the XXXs with something a student might struggle with.

Easy enough, right?

I didn't slow my momentum by wasting an hour looking for the answer somewhere.  I didn't get sidetracked by starting to research pre-calculus terms and then get diverted to Ancestry.com or Pinterest.  I kept going.  I moved the story forward.  And now I get to go back and re-learn a bunch of stuff from high school so I can try to be as smart as my character.

Sounds good to me.

Do You Suffer from...Character Attachment Disorder?

Okay, so I'm nearing the home stretch.  The new book has about 60 pages to go before the first draft is finished.  But in those 60 pages, I have to completely destroy the character's life.  And the lives of her family members, through the choices she makes.

I've noticed my page count dropping slightly per day, ever since I began to approach this final stretch.  And then it hit me...I'm attached to my character.  I don't want to ruin her life.  I don't want to hurt her.  But I have to, because of the bad decisions she's made.

All along, I intended for this story to end a certain way--the end was what I envisioned first.  So I know it has to happen this way.  Everything in the plot leads up to this ending.  I've created the sort of inevitable train wreck you know is coming but can't turn away from.

Yet...I still kind of want to turn away.

Does this happen you guys, too?  Have you ever created a character you enjoyed so much you didn't want to end the story, particularly in a way that harms the character?

This is a tragic story.  Everything is in place for the tragic ending...the foreshadowing, the tone, the language.  Now I'm dreading writing the tragedy because all the character had to do to avoid it was be smart.  But I don't think she's smart in that particular way, so it wouldn't be true to the character to have her save the day instead of ruin it.

*sigh*  On with the final few chapters...let's see what happens when my fingers hit the keys.

Blurring the Lines: Fiction vs. Memoir

Have you guys ever written a story that borrows details or experiences from your real life?  I've done this a few times, but mostly for settings.  I wrote a short story that takes place in Africa, and since I'd been to Africa, I used details about the place I stayed to re-create the setting for my character.

No big deal, right?  Right.

But in my new book, I'm going deeper.  I'm using more than a setting--I'm using a lot of detail about my life, my family, the town I was born and raised in.  Of course, this leads to a dilemma.  What's better for fiction....the verisimilitude of details I know to be true, or the flair of details I'm making up as I go?

Let's look at the problem from both angles.

In the red corner, arguing against using personal experiences:
*Real life isn't art.  Fiction is art.  Devote yourself to art to take full advantage of the medium itself.
*You could get sued if you don't differentiate your characters enough from the real people who inspired them.
*At least in my life, the characters I make up are probably more interesting.  (My family is very white-picket-fence.)
*What's the challenge in writing about stuff that actually happened?  Isn't that journalism or memoir?

In the blue corner, arguing for using personal experiences:
*Using real-life details can't help but give the story a true-to-life feel.  The details will feel real because they are real.
*Writing about people who are, essentially, my family members makes it easier to focus on plot and language.  The characterizations are done for me.
*Remember in Little Women, when Jo wrote trashy Ivanhoe-style stories about things she knew nothing about and they only got rejected, and then she wrote her own story, the story about herself and her sisters, and it was amazing?

So what do you think?  What do you do when it's time to write?  Do you use your memories and experiences as a source, or do you push them away and dive into the unknown?